Spitting Images
by My Friends Call Me Cookie
Summary: Layla's cousin is a monster. He likes the way she calls him dickweed. He likes the way she mocks him after she's destroyed his book. He likes the way she laughs with her friends. He just really freaking likes her. And he knows he's lying to himself when he rattles on in his brain about how much she's a pain in his flaming ass. So why can't he stop thinking about hers?
1. Prologue

Wow, I feel old.

Okay, not old as in "broken-back-shattered-my-hip-clean-my-dentures" old. It's more of a "wow-where-did-my-childhood-go" and "wasn't-I-just-watching-Tom-&-Jerry-Saturday-morni ng" old. Well, scratch that last one. I actually _was_ watching Tom & Jerry Saturday morning in my Eeyore pajamas that I bought from the Disney Store three months ago and wasn't I on a certain topic a few moments ago?

Right, well, I feel old. I guess everyone feels it at this point in their life. You wake up on a shiny, hot Monday morning just as dawn cracks through the sky and shoves the moon out of the way and you realize…

"SHIT! I'M LATE!"

And on my first day of senior year, too. I can never get out of this habit, can I? That's okay, though, because my Dog Days are over and I'm ready to run with the horses and get this year started. Anyone one with me? No?

Oh crap, the blow dryer just died on me and I'm not even done with my hair! My day is starting to feel like a bad trolling meme on iFunny.

Problem?


	2. Hannah by Freelance Whales

_Do me this solid if you would pretty lady  
Please grab your martini and meet me on the balcony  
I've prepared a light  
You can fake a melody  
And we can argue over when and where the cymbal hit should be  
Hannah takes the stairs  
And I usually take the elevator  
Every now and then she offers me a lemon now and later  
Please don't play a matchmaker  
Please don't be a player hater  
If you dig her recent work than you should go congratulate her_

_-"Hannah" by Freelance Whales_

* * *

Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap.

Why am I always missing the bus?

I pull out my phone, search for a familiar name in my contacts. I touch on the name and pray that she's still getting ready and not getting on her bus. The phone rings too many times for my own comfort before she answers questioningly.

"Uriel? What happened this time?"

I sigh in relief, bouncing on the balls of my shoeless feet as I ask her, "Are you still getting ready?"

"No," she yawns. "I just woke up. My bus doesn't get to the stop for another forty-five minutes. Why?"

"Would you believe me if I said I missed my bus already?"

She laughs into the phone and I stand there, motionless and pouting as she dies from hysterics. Why I like her, I'll never know. I tap my bare foot on the concrete impatiently as she stops laughing into the speaker. At this time, my nosy neighbor (God, will Mrs. Cowlette leave me alone for once? I can clearly see her looking at me through her window!) is watching me through her window that is big enough to show her large frame and the fact that she has no curtains on it. For as long as I'd lived in my own house (Four months, which really isn't much), privacy had been but a thin line if Mrs. Cowlette was awake and prowling for gossip materiel. I threw her the finger, fed up with her prying bird eyes and listened as Layla told me she'd sent Will over to get me.

"What? NO! _Why_ would you do that? You know I hate it when-WILLPUTMEDOWNYOUDICKHEADIDON 'TLIKEBEINGFLOWNAROUNDBYYOU!"

Once again, Layla is laughing into the phone, and yet again, I am dying from a million heart attacks because Will freaking Stronghold is flying around with me in tow and I can't stand it when he flies me around because he is like a bad driver when his feet aren't on the ground. I heave in his grasp as he chuckles at me. We're going eighty miles an hour and it's driving me nuts because Will flying at twenty is dangerous.

_Oh god, we almost hit that bird!_

I pout as Will lands not-so-safely in Layla's backyard. I smack him with my clothes and stomp inside, grumbling that he is, in fact, the worst flyer _ever_.

I push past Layla as she leaves the bathroom freshly showered. She greets me cheerfully but I throw her a featherless bird just as well and slam the door to the bathroom.

I look around in the very green bathroom overrun by plants and the occasional ferret. It's places like these, owned by people like Layla, that I wonder why the world is so weird and stereotypical in one place and unique in another. Layla is a little treehugger, I get it. But she's also a feminist, a vegetarian, a forever-wearing-green-girl, and she doesn't like violence. Basically, in simpler terms, she's a fucking panda. I say panda because there is nothing more docile than a panda. Stick two of them in a cage to breed and they'll just look at each other. Stick me in a cage with anything and after a week, I'll fuck it.

Actually, that's a lie. I just felt like referencing Jim Jeffries.

I stop letting my mind run rampant and finish getting ready instead. I've got only twenty-five minutes left and I don't want to risk flying with Will again…

I peel off my pajamas (They're so immature because they're plastered in monkies with bananas and giant grins and I really need a life because I have too many of these things in my pajama drawer) and lather myself with Vasaline lotion, to upkeep my smoother-than-a-baby's-ass skin before I drown my body in a light perfume that smells like sea cotton. I search through my pile of clothes that I dragged out o the house with me and find my black skinny jeans with the rips down my right thigh. I throw those and a strappy white shirt on. I look at the clock and see I have twenty minutes left. I cheer in victory as I start on my hair. I concentrate with my entire mind (Which is a surprise because my mind wonders off too easily and hey, when did that plant grow three feet?!) on focus and braid nine cornrows into the left side of my head until a little section of my hair is braided down to my scalp. I stop each one three-point-five inches in and tie it off with tiny clear hair rubber bands and throw some hair mousse into my white locks until there are messy and curly and sexy.

"Uriel, we're leaving in five minutes!"

Fuck, shit, damn, hell, fuck!

I line my eyes in a thin coat of black eyeliner and drown my lips in fire-red lipstick. I slip on my circle – or is it a snood? – scarf and twist it around my neck three times before it covers my cleavage and run out the door with my blazer and my brown oxford shoes in my hand. My backpack is still waiting by the back door so I run for that.

"We're leaving!"

Fuck, shit, damn, hell, fuck!

"WAIT FOR _ME!_"

* * *

"You're not on my bus."

I narrow my eyes at Ron. "I am today."

He chuckles before sending me off, "One day, your friends are going to stop miss their buses, Will."

"I don't wanna know how many people your bus driver black markets to school," I grumble as Layla drags me off to the back of the bus. I can hear Will greeting his favorite bus driver/superhero as the forever-wearing-green-girl shoves me into a seat beside Ethan. He's hunching over an Advanced Functions textbook – all his advanced classes start a month before school – that makes my brain hurt immediately just by seeing it there in my vicinity. Ethan waves two fingers at me, acknowledging me in his own occupied way. I sigh at him and lean back against the chair as the bus takes off. Layla and Will are in the seat across and Maj and Zach are somewhere in front of us, pretending they don't like each other like I've seen them doing since Layla introduced me. My stomach growls obscenely. "Layla, tell me you have _food_."

Three granola bars and some water are thrown into my lap. "I love you, Green Queen."

I shove a granola and half in my mouth and guzzle down half the bottle of water before opening my backpack and pulling out my makeup bag. I shove the bag-that's-really-a-purse onto my lap and open it up. My mirror shines bright to me and I pull it out quickly to examine my facial appearance. My eyeliner is still fresh and perfect and I'm determined to keep it that way if it means doing it over and over again during Mad Science IV and Hero History II. My lips are still fire-red and I smile, because they make my full lips look pouty, but then I remember they're always pouty and I thank any godly being for giving such perfect lip genes. My hair is dry (FINALLY!) and crazy curly, but in a sexy, messy kind of way. The cornrows stop at the rubber bands and turn into curls that fall everywhere, leaving the braided section revealed. My pale skin looks blemish-free and smooth.

I spend the next thirty minutes on the bus applying and reapplying my mascara to my lashes until they are full and black. I blink repeatedly, thinking that if it were possibly, I would be creating a windstorm with how big my lashes were.

"You look really pretty, Uriel," I hear. I look up, stunned. Ethan has spoken! God, you can never get that boy to talk when his nose was buried in a math textbook. I smile big at him, because he hardly ever talks around me at all, now that I think about it and tell him, "Thanks, Ethan. You look really good, too."

And he does. He's filled out since that horrible first semester last year where Gwen Grayson tried to turn everyone into babies with the Pacifier and raise them into villains. Layla took it upon herself to show me all the pictures in the yearbook that the school took of the night it happened. Ethan was in several, scrawny and thin and very nerdy. Now? His thighs fill out his jeans, instead of drowning in khakis that are two inches above his ankles, and his shirt outlines the hard muscle he's gained since training in hand-to-hand combat. His face is smooth and exotic with a soft stubble growing from his chin and he switched his thick glasses for some really good black-framed nerdy-looking ones that have recently returned to style so that you can see his deep blue eyes. Did I mention he's also _grown_ a lot? Ever since he'd hit his growth spurt, I've felt like a smurf around him if I happened to have been wearing blue.

He smiles happily at me before going back to his textbook. He answers one last question just as the bus lands on Sky High with a lurch that is all too familiar with the bus riders of Ron Wilson: Bus Driver/Superhero.

I slip on my blue-green blazer and skip off, waving gratitude and a farewell to Ron. Layla hooks her arm through mine and leaves behind a sulking Will. We head inside.

"So, Warren's back from China," Layla says.

"Cool," I say.

"I was thinking today we could all meet up at Will's afterschool, since I know you like to hang out with your music friends at lunch."

I shrug and bang open my locker. It creaks in protest as the door swings open slowly. My schedule, textbooks, and guidelines are in there already. I try not to freak out at how good the school is because I've done this already. Maybe it was month, sure, but I did it already and my school's ninja stealthy really shouldn't freak me out since I am a Super after all.

She scoffs. "I can already tell you're going to find a reason to bail."

I snort back at the comment. I turn to my green friend and sigh, hand upon her shoulder as I break the obvious news to her. "Lay-Lay, I know you're sweet and all and you just love seeing the good in _everything_, but this is _me_ we're talking about." I grab my schedule and my Mad Science IV textbook. "I always find ways to bail on you guys. Especially when Zach is there. He thinks we're best friends because we both 'glow.'"

"He can't help it!" Ladies and gentlemen, she's defending the highlighter again. "He doesn't know anyone else with his power; he's just a little excited."

"Ex-_queeze_ me, but I do not _glow_." I scowl at the idea of it. "I control, bend, and manipulate the light around me. I carry it in my bloodstream and my hair is drowning in it." I point to my white locks. I wouldn't dare be insulted by a dorky power that involves being brighter than the already bright wardrobe covering one's body.

She sighs, nods, closes my locker then heads to her own. We wave before I trail off to Mad Science with Peanut Head and his recurring lesson on "the silliness of the shrink ray to the devastation of the death ray".

Inwardly groaning, I shove my way through his door and greet Mr. Medulla with a closed-lip smile and take my seat in the middle, because it's where I always sit. He doesn't have to worry about the kids acting up if they're in the death zone up front because it's hard to get away with things up there. And he's too busy being occupied with watching the kids in the back to notice the ones in the middle. It's a simple method I've perfected since I was old enough to go to school to get in mischief.

The bell rings; my first day of Senior Year officially begins and I already feel like drowning in some martinis.


	3. Migraine by twentyonepilots

_Behind my eyelids are islands of violence  
My mind ship-wrecked, this is the only land my mind could find  
__I did not know it was such a violent island  
Full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions  
They're trying to eat me, blood running down their chin  
And I know that I can fight it or let the lion win  
I begin to assemble what weapons I can find  
'Cause sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind_

_-"Migraine" by twenty/one/pilots_

* * *

My head is pounding by the time I walk into gym class and Boomer seems to notice it, too. His eyes fly around me, trying not to make eye contact because he's had a record of regretting getting on my bad side. Curiosity gets the better of him and he cowards internally as I fix a steely-eyed glare in his direction. He turns away abruptly, calling out names on his clipboard. He reaches mine and stumbles just a bit but continues on with quick recovery.

I sigh contently as I reach a familiar girl with a cat curled around her neck. My butt plants itself firmly and the feline screeches angrily at me. I hiss back, just to fuck with the stupid fur ball.

"Uri," my friend sighs. "Why do you always fight with Lumina?"

I scowl at the cat as it looks at me with big, questioning eyes. It's bothersome because it suddenly looks like an owl and, also, because it's acting too humanoid in the way her eyes feign innocence. _Damn cats…_I dismiss the freaky thing and answer that, "Your zoo animal is a pain in my ass. Literally, actually! My ass cheek still hurts from that one time she used me as a ladder to the counter."

Kessareen chuckles at me, turning back to the black cat (How fucking cliché.) nuzzling her neck. I swear up and down that cat is a demon from between Satan's stinky toes. Lucifer would have been a better name for the stupid animal. And who the hell would name a black cat Lumina? I get the irony and all, but the cat was evil and always hurting me in various ways and forms.

Had it not been because of my friend's power, she wouldn't have the cat with her. Kessareen is a spellcaster – one of the last seven alive. Her power is so rare that she would probably be one of the most sought after supers once she graduated from the flying institution. Her power required a familiar, which brought Lumina into the equation. The cat followed her everywhere and never left her side. If it left, her powers would weaken. If it were hurt, Kessareen would most likely become ill, and in worst-case-scenarios, _die_.

I learned the hard way, once, when she took me home with her my second week at Sky High last year. I kicked it off the couch during a black & white movie. Lumina wasn't expecting it and made a bad land, damaging her paw. Kessareen was sick for a month while the cat's sprained paw healed in a splint. As if the black feline didn't hate me enough already, when I put Kessareen in danger that one time, it made it its mission to torment me until the day I died and I was sure that it was already planning a nice, good bathroom break in my grave. Insert pouty face here, please?

Mister-Short-Shorts-Gym-Shorts-Man announces that we'll start training tomorrow, since he's too busy sorting out the freshmen. I shrug and pull out some nail polish. The powder blue glitters as the school lighting hits the paint when I open it. I paint my nails, one by one, over and over, as Kessareen tells me about a concert she read about that was supposed to happen in Maxville.

I decide to tune it out.

Kessareen was always one for dark, rock 'n roll kind of music with some metal and scream tied in. The moment she mentioned the "awesome screamo song" that she was so sure was going to be played, I booked my mind out of there. Instead, I imagined sitting at a Scoundrels concert, listening to the lead singer hum as he started out the guitar on Sexy Weekend.

"You should let me paint your nails," I say, all of a sudden. Kessareen stops mid-rant on a self-debate about whether Avril Lavigne is really a punk musician or not and looks at me with horror written across her face.

"No," she says bluntly. Her purple lips look funny against her tan skin, but the dimensional black-laced dress and fishnet tights give her body an interesting figure that most guys would dare look her way for. Her father's old biker boots weigh down her feet. Her hair is the only thing that remains untainted by her gothy personality. The flouncy surfer waves are cut just before the top of her chin and look like melted chocolate. The frame her pointed chin nicely and I cluck my tongue in shame that she doesn't wear cuter, girlier things to accentuate her lithe figure and girlish looks.

I scoot extremely close to her, right into her face as I beg with pouted lips (Well, more pouted than they already are, haha), "Please, I have black and Halloween Purple!"

She eyes me for a moment, narrows them at me for a second, then sighs and hands over her left hand in defeat. "Fine." I throw a fist above my head in victory. "I want Halloween Purple, except for my middle fingers. I want those black."

I kiss her cheek and begin painting her nails. I forget that Lumina is hissing at me for a little while.

When I finish, the bell rings, dismissing us for lunch.

Lunch, where your meal is determined by the status Gym Teacher Man has thrown upon you your freshman year. I saunter in with the smell of lasagna wafting towards my nostrils and leave behind Kessareen who heads to the back with her equally gothy friends and her lunch dangling from Lumina's kitty mouth.

It never bothered me that we didn't hang out at lunch. I always divided my time between Layla and Co., ever since I'd started last year, and my music elective classmates. Kessareen preferred blending in with the wearers of black and I liked my colorful, loud friends and my earthy monarch.

I feel my migraine attack assault the front of my skull instead of the back and slug over to Layla's table with my tray of lasagna and apple-cinnamon tea. I outstretch my arm; my backpack slips off slowly and hits the ground with a thud. I groan and lay my head on the table. "Migraine attack," Zach whispers. I rub my head up and down on the table, signaling a nod. He coos at me and takes a little pity by shoving some horse pills – 800 milligram Motrin – in my palm. I down them quickly, knowing my body will absorb them in five minutes.

_I love being a genetic anomaly…_

"Yo, Warren Peace! Didn't think I'd see you today!"

Fuck you, Zach.

I throw my hand out and thrash it around in the air until I hit floppy hair that's definitely too greasy for my liking. Zach whines, rubbing his head as I open an eye to assess my work. My hand is tattooed into his face for at least the rest of the day; I snicker.

I hear a grunt as heat suddenly swarms around me. I freak, jumping up in my seat as I become aware that a pair of clunky shoes are scuffing my own delicate ones.

"Hey," I snap, "watch the shoes. They're three hundred bucks and _comfortable_."

"Who's the new glowworm?"

The _what?_

I look up, resting my eyes on deeply tanned, russet skin encased in a deliciously soft leather jacket and long dark hair. I know who he is because Layla has several pictures of him in a scrapbook resigned for her freshmen year. He's hard-jawed and all muscle and broad shoulders. The red streaks falls out of the French braid (Haha, nice manly hairstyle going on there) plaited down to between his shoulder blades.

"One: she's not a glowworm," I hiss. "Two: I control the natural element of _light_." Is he smirking? He's smirking. I will punch the fucking fire out of this guys ass. "Three: My name is Uriel, dickweed."

Warren lifts an eyebrow at me, menacing eyes assessing me from across the table. He purses his lips for a moment before looking down at his book and commenting that, "Don't really care Glowworm 2."

A light feeling rushes from my fingertips to my head and straight through my roots and I know my hair is licking away with white light like my hair is on fire because Layla suddenly appears and is urging me to calm down.

Her hands are digging into my shoulder. "You can't go nuclear again or else Principal Powers will expel you," she says fiercely. I ignore her as the scene in front of me goes white, white, white. "Warren, what did you do?"

I see the faint outline of him shrugging, not once looking up from his book. That's when I snap.

When my sight is back to normal, Warren is looking down at his hands incredulously as little slithers of his book fall back down to the table in glowing white light, smoke sizzling from the spot where it touched the flat surface. There's a permanent black mark on the plastic.

At least this time I didn't go nuclear.

"Warren," Layla says with a nervous enthusiasm, "this is Uriel Montigré, the cousin I told you about."

I try not to laugh as his eyes grow bigger when he looks at me. There is shock crossing his features over and over. He's so surprised, he can't even be mad. I laugh in my head.

"Oops," I say. My voice comes out casual. "Guess I made it go bye-bye."

"Hey, Songbird, come over here! We miss your pretty voice."

I snort, recognizing the familiar call of my music friends. I stand up, dust the glitter (A sparkly side effect from angry use of my power) from my fingertips, not bothering with the ones in my hair, and grab my bag. I sigh, faking sadness as I turn to the pyrokinetic. "It was lovely blowing your book up and all, but my other talent is needed elsewhere. Bye!"

I laugh my way over to the table in the middle of the cafeteria. It's the biggest one by far, a large square table that currently holds a keyboard, laptop, microphone, guitar case, electric drumming pad, and some tambourines. I throw my hands up above me and say excitedly, "I blew shit up!" This earns several laughs from the twelve or so people at the table. They congratulate me – because they are criminals in their own little ways and condone my little bursts of criminal acts – and set up the recording for whatever song they want me to participate me.

I drop myself next to a lavender-haired boy with gages in his ear. He's currently fiddling with some bass lines he made on the track we're working on since we don't have a bass player in our lunch. He looks up and smiles, "So I heard you blew shit up."

"Pretty much," I answer. "Didn't even get to eat my lunch. Too busy going nuclear."

He shakes his head at me, but there's a smile planted firmly on his pink lips. "You have a history of those. One day it's gonna bite you in the nose."

I shove his shoulder, "Shut up, Mark. Besides, my nose is too button-like to get bit."

He scoffs at me. "So what are we working on?"

"A twenty|one|pilots song," he replied. I jump up excitedly. "I heard through the grapevine that they're your favorite so I picked a couple out I thought you might like."

"_Migraine_," I emphasized. The sheet music suddenly appeared in front of my face. I grinned gleefully and snatched it from its floating position. "I love when your magical powers bring forth my addictions." At this one, he snorts and I laugh because it's the cutest thing coming from a guy with soft purple hair and strong arms.

He motions for everyone to get into position. They obey him, grabbing their instruments or surrounding me as I sit up on the table next to Mark and his laptop. A girl, Mimi, grabs the electric guitar and hooks it up to the small amp she's sitting on. Noah, forever drumming his sticks on surfaces, puts the electric drumming pad in front of him and starts air-banging out the beats in his head. Some girl grabs a tambourine. Mark lifts his hand and drops a finger. When he reaches the one-lone-finger, his hand crashes down with me singing the opening verse into the wireless microphone that's tapped into the computer.

I finish the first three lines and suddenly, Mark has the bass line going on as he starts hitting keys on the keyboard. Mimi is strumming on the guitar and Noah is banging on the drumming pad. Tambourine Girl is smacking a _tss tss-tss _rhythm on her thigh as I start to lightly rap the real first verse. Mark's head is nodding appreciatively as he surveys the cafeteria around him.

Everyone is quiet.

I start getting into the chorus, back-up vocals around me crooning the words along with me in a volume soft enough to let my voice ring through distinctively. The bass drops for a half second and then hits back when I sing the last word of the chorus in a deep croon. One of my back-ups starts to beatbox softly.

We continue on like this for the next two minutes of the funky song. I rap/sing the song while everyone else improvises their notes into it. We don't bother following the notes on the actual sheet music whenever we play instruments. For as long as we'd done this lunch-time music fest, the schedule would start with finding the instruments that were definitely needed. Bringing in instruments we thought would make a cooler addition followed, along with reading sheet music for the song we would record. It always ended with the singer following the sheet music with an altercation or two (Because we singers have our own styles, duh!) and the band just making up the music in their own chords and rhythms.

When I sing the last word, the music stops abruptly with my voice and everyone starts to clap and cheer. I swing my fists around in a circular motion in tradition victory dance and lean down to high five mark. I kiss the top of his head with exaggeration and proceed to let my ego inflate.

I give everyone praise on their part in the song before heading back over to Layla. Will is beside her, eyeing her with sickening love in his gaze. They're so sweet I have diabetes. Maj and Zach are there, together, still pretending that they don't like each other, and Ethan is working on math…Again. And of course, Warren. I'm not used to seeing him when I'm around my lowerclassmen friends, but I know I'm growing accustomed to the grumbling frown on his face as he stares at the table because I blew up his book.

Layla beams at me as I throw my bag on the floor and take a seat next to the fire-boy so I can face my friend directly. "You were great, Uriel."

I smirk, my arrogance hitting me from all directions for the moment. "Thanks, I felt great." I turn to Warren. "What do you think, better performance than the exploding book?"

He grumbles a quiet, "It was good," before turning away and scowling at the wall. I shrug, knowing I've accomplished a few things today.


	4. A Little Snippet from Warren's Mind

Warren knows he's in trouble when he sees pretty white hair at the lunch table he's let fill with all his new friends. It's a given that Warren has always had a thing for blondes and white-skinned girls. And when she blows up his book after insulting him and defending herself from the overused nickname of _Glowworm_, he's found out that he likes soft girls with a crunchy middle.

When she walks away to the infamous Music Cluster that always takes over the middle of the cafeteria, he's realized he's attracted to curves instead of soft figures. If he had to guess, her size-8 pants were merely to accustom her wide hips and heart-shaped bum that swayed oh-so-perfectly. He's pretty much guessed that the waist of her pants are all tailored to fit her tiny waist that deeply curves outwards to create her chest which are modestly filled out.

And all that hair…He was already imagining all the different ways she could wear her hair that would probably make his pants a little too tight. Her little section of cornrows was quite attractive with the way her curls framed her heart-shaped face and down, down, down, down to just above her pretty ass.

Her voice is sultry and breathy when she sings, but when she speaks, she's all alto-pitched and narcissistic-toned and he likes that someone as colorfully dressed as she can be so negative in her voice.

He likes the way she calls him dickweed.

He likes the way she mocks him after she's destroyed his book.

He likes the way she laughs with her friends.

He just really freaking likes her.

And he knows he's lying to himself when he rattles on in his brain about how much she's a pain in his flaming ass. So why can't he stop thinking about hers?


	5. Raise Your Glass by Pink

_So if you're too school for cool  
__And you're treated like a fool  
__We can always, we can always  
__Party on our own  
So raise your glass if you are wrong  
In all the right ways  
All my underdogs  
We will never be, never be  
Anything but loud  
And nitty gritty dirty little freaks  
_

_-"Raise Your Glass" by P!nk_

* * *

"_MAR_JO_RIE_!"

I turn around just as Abel falls down three stair steps.

"Oops," I hiss. "Sorry for that."

His eyes fly up, landing on me and narrow menacingly and I turn to run before anything goes wrong but I'm too late. My back is stuck to the wall and my sister's boyfriend/fiancée/thingy/man is smiling in satisfaction as I wiggle around on the ceiling like it's going to put me back on the ground.

News flash: it's _not_.

"I'm sorry," I whine. "Please put me back on the ground. I'll check next time I scream for her attention!"

"What's going on? Who died? Who's hurt? Where are the dogs? Where is the fire?"

Readers, meet my sister. She's a crazy, clean-freak with a fear of the world ending every three seconds if she can't find the dogs that we don't even _own_. Marjorie's black hair is up in one of her crazy-lady-buns and there's glue and slivers of paper stuck to her old T-shirt. She looks at Abel and ends up following his line of vision to me on the ceiling. She's sighing already.

"I swear," she grumbles, "you two act like twins, not in-laws…"

"Technically," Abel lifts his hand, "soon-to-be-in-laws."

Smartass.

My sister screams and stomps off to whatever room she's occupied with her wedding planning as I beg pitifully for my future brother to let me off the ceiling. He sets me on my feet. _Rewind!_ He drops me on my ass and walks off laughing, asking me if I want any dinner. It's like he just shot me and asked me if I wanted to go see a doctor to get it looked at!

Why is my sister marrying him again?

I sit on the counter and let him ask me how my first day was. I tell him about running late and Will flying me around. He laughs at me as I continue to tell him about my run in with Kessareen's cat and how Boomer was still afraid of me. Then I tell him about lunch.

"You blew _what_ up?"

"A book."

"Yeah, I heard that, but you blew up _whose_ book?"

"Warren Peace."

Abel's tan hand falls over my forehead. "What're you doing," I ask warily.

"Signs of delusion. Are you sure you don't have a fever," he pries. I roll my eyes at him and shove him off. "No, I have to make sure you don't have any crazy in you!"

"I don't," I growl. "He pissed me off, insulted me, _and_ scuffed my shoes."

Abel raises an eyebrow at me. "Which ones?"

"The three hundred dollar oxfords you bought me in Maine."

"He can die." And he says it so simple, so innocently and dismissive that I can't help but laugh at the way it falls off his lips. It's like saying, "Okay" and walking off.

I look around at all the flowers and bouquets for a moment as my future brother spoons some sticky rice into a bowl from the rice cooker. He places it in front of as me as I ask him, "What's with all the rainbows?" The kitchen is covered in different color-schemed bouquets and ribbons and it gives me a headache with all the brightness sitting in one room.

"She's trying to figure out which one will look better with the theme of the wedding."

Three years ago, I had come down with a case of extreme migraine attacks that left Marjorie baffled and stressed and most likely drawing up schematics for a doomsday shelter. After I had calmed her down, I'd talked her into taking me to a children's clinic that specialized in Supers. She cried herself into the driver's seat and drove off to the appointment with my doctor, who happened to be Abel Lyson. The entire time he checked me over he was making googly-eyes at Marjorie. I'd noticed and took it upon myself to bring them together. The entire summer, I faked illnesses and migraine attacks and colds so that she could drag me off to see him. Each time made him a little more lovesick and her a little less oblivious to his obvious crush. One day, I told him to grow some balls.

"Ask her out, Doc."

"I'm sorry," Abel looked up from the clipboard that told him all my tests were normal. _Again_.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Ask her out, dumbass. You have the hots for my sister. She thinks you're cute. It'll work out, I promise."

He pursed his lips at me before calling her back in. We left the clinic with unneeded cold medicine and a date for Marjorie.

Nearly a year ago, he'd proposed to her. She had gone into the adult clinic next door for a checkup. When Marjorie was pulling her blouse back on after her EKG, a prescription slip had been shoved into her face. It'd read, "Please take 1 engagement ring today, as administered by Abel Lyson." Her doctor had switched places with Abel while she was behind the curtain. When she looked up, Abel was smiling nervously until she'd screamed and tackled him to the linoleum.

I'd always liked Abel, because Marjorie wasn't one for shopping and dressing nice. Abel on the other hand could moonlight as a stereotypical gay fashion designer. He always took me shopping, that was a given. My closet was full of clothes and shoes and various other things he'd bought for me on one of our shopping sprees. We went twice a month and splurged like rich people. Marjorie hated it because we always came back with a new inside joke that she would never understand until we told her months later.

Last year, a girl egged me in front of the house because her boyfriend tried to kiss me at a party. Abel stalked around in her bushes for three hours the next day until she came out of the house and then proceeded to lift her into the air and spin her around like she was on a simulator rollercoaster. She vomited all over herself before running back inside. He came home laughing with the entire incident on video.

Yeah, the guy was pretty cool. He made me his Best Man just so he could put me in a tuxedo dress.

Later, it's that awkward moment when I'm dancing around in my underwear that I really begin to hate the red-head who carries our bloodline in her veins. I have _Alive_ by Krewella blasting through my stereo at full volume, knowing Mrs. Cowlette is whispering the word "heathen" under her breath as it bangs against her window with ferocious sound waves. My hair is up in a gypsy bun with a hair-wrap headband, giving me mobility now that my hair isn't flying everywhere. I have on Abel's old MIT hoodie and no pants. This means my butt cheeks are hanging out of my boyshorts for Layla to see as she magics a tree up to my window.

"Hey, Uriel," she says.

I fall on my back, screaming slightly as her voice comes through between the loud chorus. "Fuck, Greenie, warn a half-naked girl before you scare us. I thought a murderer was in my window."

Layla looks down at me as she sits herself on my bed. "Why a murderer?"

"Hello," I say in an obvious tone. I motion my hands around my body, bringing it up and then down, repeating the action. "I have a slut's body. Not to mention my face is pretty and I'm in my underwear. This is how most girls die in horror movies. This, or somewhere in the middle of a sex scene."

"True," she says thoughtfully. "So, anyways…I talked to Warren today."

I stand up and go to my stereo, turning the volume down to a dim hum. "And I care why?"

"Because you'll be happy to know that he doesn't hate you for the book incident at lunch today."

I snort at her (I feel like I'm doing this too much. Am I? I really feel that the back of my throat is just receiving too much of this abuse) and drop myself onto my bed, stomach first. I swing my legs up in the air and rest my chin on my hands. "Layla, I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but he hates my guts."

"That's a lie," Layla cries.

"Nope," I pop the 'p'. "I sit in front of him in Villain Psychosis II. He couldn't stop glaring at me. I could feel the smoke sizzling off his _eyeballs_."

Layla smiles devilishly. "Then why did I overhear him tell Will on the bus that he thinks you're hot?"

I raise an eyebrow. There's just no letting up on her.

"Maybe because he's allowed to think I'm a sexy beast. It's a given, I mean, look at these hips! And my ass is de-_lish._" She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. "Look, let the guy hate me, Lay-Lay. Let the guy think I'm cute, too. But don't force him into enjoying my presence or else _you_'_ll_ be the one getting your hair set on fire; not me."

"Fine," she says, defeated. She gets up, kisses me on my cheek, and heads to my window to leave. She turns back for a moment to say one last thing. "By the way, don't you need a date to Marjorie's wedding?"

"Yeah, so," I ask, not knowing where she's going with this.

She grins evilly. "Warren doesn't have anywhere else to be that night."

"OUT!"

I'm going to need a new alarm clock, now.


	6. Broken Horse by Freelance Whales

_October's got those orange eyes  
But somehow I still lost sight  
When you lifted the lid off of my  
Pumpkin head and kissed me goodnight  
It could be a thorn in my side  
We never quite broke that horse  
She slept in the cul-de-sac rye  
Seven miles from my front porch_

_-"Broken Horse" by Freelance Whales_

* * *

Surprisingly, I wake up at six-thirty; just in time to get ready and catch my own bus. I rummage through my clothes before I find my cable-knit sweater and black nylon stockings. I tiredly throw them on over my body as I zombie-shuffle my feet to the bathroom with all my beauty products waiting for me on the sink. I brush my teeth, gargle some mouthwash, and look in the mirror.

I. Look. Hideous.

My eyes are covered in rings from my body refusing to shut down last night. My nose is cherry red from being stuffed with congestion, and my hair is flying in a million different directions, trying to defy gravity. I groan pitifully before grabbing my concealer. I drown my eyes in the gooey substance and then powder over them with a small brush. I apply some mascara and soft brown eyeliner to take away from the slightly visible rings. I throw my hair up in another gypsy bun and retie the hair-wrap headband around it. Some baby wisps hang loosely around my face, catching in my eyes. I'm too lazy to move them.

I can smell Marjorie baking biscuits in the oven.

I rush back to my room, more awake and _really_ hungry. I go to my tiny wardrobe that sits in the corner of my room. It looks like the one from Narnia, where the kids go inside and find a magical land with freaking _Santa Claus_ and get presents just for being there. Plenty of times, in a state of sleep deprivation, I've actually tried to find Narnia in my wardrobe. I didn't.

I open the mahogany doors and search for a black waist belt. I find it and buckle it three notches loose so that it hangs unevenly on my hips. I hop down the stairs with my backpack while trying to slip on my house slippers that masquerade as cable-knitted calf-booties. Marjorie is pulling the biscuits out of the oven and Abel is waiting at the counter with a newspaper.

"Morning, family of two," I greet. "What's going on in the news?"

Abel puts down the paper as he answers my question that he knows I don't want him to answer anyway. "Well, Commander and Jetstream did it again. They've saved Maxville from some guy in a giraffe costume."

I choke on a biscuit I shoved in my mouth seconds ago because the whole idea of a villain dressed up as a giraffe is just hilarious. It makes me curl up and laugh on the inside, because on the outside, I'm trying to enjoy my damn breakfast. "That's a new one," Marjorie mutters over her coffee mug. "I wasn't aware giraffes were evil."

"Neither was I," I exclaim back. "My whole life was a lie. Taught to believe that giraffes were docile creatures with extremely long necks and freakishly stick-like legs? Now they are harboring our villains in their spots."

"Goodbye, Drama Queen," Marjorie says, front door open in her hand, signaling that I should leave. I prance out the door, faking tears because it puts a smile on her face and Abel now has another reason to take me shopping before Homecoming.

I stop at the end of my block, hoping my bus arrives early.

I plug my earphones into my phone, searching through my music files until I land on A Rocket to the Moon. I click on their playlist and relax against the stop sign as Whole Lotta You begins to drum its way to my eardrums in an airy, summer-love-song tune. I sing along.

"_Get me buzzed on your love, let me steal a kiss…"_ The lyrics roll off my tongue smoothly, creating another universe in my head as I close my eyes and bask in the sunrays that break through the tree branches shading the bus stop.

I sigh and tilt my head back as I continue to fill the empty noise with words, _"Bubblegum on your tongue, no I can't resist. Gotta leave all your worries at the door, 'cause life ain't nothing but a big dance floor-"_

"Is there a time in the day where you aren't singing?"

"-HOLYSHITWHATTHEFUCKISWRONGWITHYOU?"

Warren doesn't laugh, but he sits there with a stupid smirk planted on his hot lips and I can't help but want to touch his mouth…As I kick his face into the next millennium. With my foot. Wearing an iron boot.

"Problem, Glitter Fingers?"

Oh, he did _not_ just call me that.

"Just because I get covered in sparkling dust-"

"You mean glitter?"

"-doesn't mean I won't beat you into a flaming pile of shit." He lifts an eyebrow at me. "And it's not glitter! It's photon residue."

He frowns, "What?"

"Photons? Ya know, little tiny energy 'packets' that create the illusion of light? Photokinetics generate, manipulate and/or absorb photons to do this," I lift my hand and open it so that my palm faces up towards the sky. A bright orb of swirling light appears in my hand, taking shape of a twisting vine as it crawls up my arm and down to my other hand. It forms into a ball and slowly dims until there is nothing. "Same thing you can do, just a different type of energy."

"That's actually…pretty cool," he says.

I shrug, shouldering my bag as the bus pulls up to the stop. "I guess, I mean, there's a lot more to it, like levitation, invisibility, darkness manipulation and a bunch of really cool healing accidents that I couldn't explain back in grade school, but it's kinda fun to have."

"Sounds stellar," he grumbles. "And complicated."

"Well, it comes in handy when the power goes out, that's for sure."

He scoffs, "So does fire."

"But there is nothing more effective than actual light." I examine my nails. "I mean, who wants to break a bunch of toes in an orange glow when the electricity cuts off? I'm a walking light bulb provision."

"So you're admitting that you're a glowworm?" He's grinning and I want so badly to blow him up.

"I'm going to refrain myself from killing you because Layla thinks you're really cool and I love my cousin," I narrow my eyes at him from across the aisle. "So please, kindly shut the fuck up before I throw family values out the window."

He chuckles as he throws his legs across his seat. They're long and muscular and his heels bump the edge of my seat whenever the bus bounces on the road, which is a lot, actually. "At least you said, 'please'."

Yeah, I could tell this was going to be a _long_ bus ride.

* * *

**We Interrupt This Program to Bring You:  
"A Day In the Life of Mark's Non-Existent Love Life"**

I jump on Mark's back just in time to hear him ask Kessareen on a date. It's the funniest thing when her eyes open widely and her jaw unhinges as my purple-haired friend stands there nervously in front of my black-wearing companion. I'm laughing as I wrap my arms around his neck from behind with my legs locked around his hips. They're both too stunned and focused on the other to notice I've entered the equation.

"Say yes, Kessa," I cry. "You guys will make such pretty babies!"

"See, she agrees with me," Mark says. "I mean, not that I wanna have babies with you or anything." Kessareen's eyes get bigger. "I mean, no, no, that's not what I meant. I mean, if the relationship were to get that far, yeah, I'd totally want to make babies with you. I like kids. Do you like kids? Oh god, I'm really creeping you out right now, aren't I?"

I hop off his back. "Um…" Lucille doesn't say anything else.

Mark nods, "Yep, I'll just go take my walk of shame now."

Off he goes, down the hall to spazz about a horrible encounter with a girl he's had a crush on since third grade. I snicker as Kessareen slowly closes her locker shut with her mouth open and Lumina perched on her shoulder. "He said he wanted to have babies with me."

"Yup," I confirm.

"Cool…"

**This Concludes:  
****"A Day In the Life of Mark's Non-Existent Love Life"**

* * *

Layla is smiling widely when I sit next to her in the gym. Everyone is wearing gym shorts and T-shirts that are completely unflattering and icky-colored. Gym-Shorts was hosting a 'welcome back' game of Save the Citizen. I'd only heard of the game because I'd gotten here so late last year, but my cousin and her patriotic boyfriend had taken it as means of explaining everything on the game and how Will and Warren were undefeated and so freaking good at it. Honestly, I didn't give a rat's ass.

Why would I want to waste my time saving a dummy or trying to kill it? The game sounded unrealistic. If I were the citizen hanging from that rope, I would have swung myself over and over until I was far away enough from the edge that I could snap the rope with my switchblade I kept handy in my shoes and bras and pockets and just about anywhere else I could hide one. I mean, I had plenty! No citizen is going to sit there and hope the hero is fast enough to get them to safety. Sometimes the hero fails. And sometimes, the citizen is better at getting away than being saved. It's common fact.

I guess the game was just to fuel confidence.

My cousin frowns when she takes a good look at me. "You're out of uniform."

I look down at my spandex active-wear leggings and my equally spandex tank top. My running shoes are not Sky High gym standard either. I shrug. "Didn't feel like blending in." I lean back on the row of bleachers behind me and stretch my legs out so that they take up the spot in front of me on the bleacher row below us. My hair is plaited into a fishtail braid that falls over my shoulder so that I can rest my head comfortably.

"Who's starting the game out," I ask.

"Who do you think?"

"Majenta, my purple friend," I exclaim. She sits next to me in the horrid uniform, arms crossed angrily across her stomach. She's watching Zach flirt with some freshman girl ten rows below us. Her eyes are darkening and I know she's planning on leaving guinea pig presents in the girl's purse before the days is done with. I snicker. "Just tell him how you feel, Maj. He feels the same way."

I get a finger instead of gratitude. Well, alrighty then!

Boomer gets up on his lifeguard-post-that's-not-a-lifeguard-post and announces in his sonic voice that the game will begin once Will and Warren pick their opponents. "Oh, we have new uniforms," Ethan says excitedly.

Warren and Will step out to the middle of the fake park dressed in full body leather suits with pads. It reminds me of motorcycle gear without all the crash-protection. It's sleeker, sexier, and _everyone_ can clearly tell. Most because they're being drenched in drool coming out of the mouths of the girls sitting around them. Ugh, fangirls.

"Stronghold, Peace," Coach Boomer says unenthusiastically from his highchair (Haha, highchair! 'Cause he's a big baby…), "pick your opponents."

I watch Will and Warren talk quietly to each other, knowing there are some with super senses in the crowd. Warren is waving his arms around, ferocious and sharp as he lays the law down on Will. Will nods and they turn to Big-Baby-Boomer.

"We want Marley Kaiser, and Uriel-"

Boomer cuts Will off, "Montigré? Can't you pick someone _else?_"

"Um, no," Will says, as if it's obvious. I have a feeling he wasn't going for me anyway. "We want her and Marley." Boomer grumbles and tells us to get into gear.

In the suit-up room, I peel off my "uniform" and slip on the sleek leather body suit they've invested in. The pads are thin, yet durable, and I feel a fine flexibility and airiness from the breathing material that I know the school did well in their investments. Judging from what I've heard, their other gear was _crap_.

I pull my plaited her back over my shoulder and head out to stand next to Marley. As Boomer announces the rules of the game, I look at my partner. I can see why she was picked. She was a tiny thing with a willow-thin frame and wispy hair cut into a boyish pixie that gave her a slightly frightened look. She is short, only five feet tall, but the light aura around her glows bright and strong. They picked her because she looked weak. They chose wrong.

Warren announces they'll play heroes. I turn to Marley, "I'm a photokinetic, what can you do?"

She smiles, "I can see inside people's minds and make their fears real."

I hold my fist out. She bumps it. "We are so gonna win this."

The buzzer goes off.

"I'll take Captain America," she yells.

Good, I wanted the matchstick. Warren locks his eyes on me and smirks devilishly, hands flaming already. I stand there, waiting. He throws a fireball. Just before it hits me, I disappear. I'm standing three feet off to the side from where the fireball was going to hit me. Warren throws another, but I disappear again. He growls, throwing more balls of liquid fire my way, but my photoportation evades each one, making him angrier and angrier.

I appear behind him. I tap his shoulder. He turns around, eyes wide, before he throws a fist. I duck, push him down onto my raised knee, and lay a chop on his spine. He groans as he falls but he pulls himself back up. He lifts his leg to kick but I throw his leg back down with an open palm as if swinging a rope.

"What the-"

I smirk, "Funny thing, Warren, but I can actually absorb the light around me to make myself stronger. Guess I should have told you that earlier, huh? Oops."

I pull my fist back and then hit him square in the chest. He flies back twenty feet.

As he recovers, I look over to where Will is. He's currently trying to lift a lamp post, but it's no use. His face is red and puffy, tendons and veins poking prominently through his skin. He looks like he's taking a big shit, basically.

His worst fear was losing his powers. Haha, what a baby!

A fireball hits me in the face.

Everything becomes deathly silent. The crowd doesn't scream, Boomer doesn't yell at us for fouls we haven't committed. It's all just quiet. I can feel my skin burning, open and bloody from being touched by fire. Warren is standing behind me, now. Waiting. My hair is loose from the fight and covers my face, so no one can see my cheek slowly closing itself as the light in my blood regenerates it.

"Are you okay," Warren asks. His hand touches on my shoulder.

Suddenly, I turn around, lifting my leg. It lands across his cheek hard. He yells out a curse word before spitting out the blood collecting in his mouth from what must have been a split cheek. "Game on," I say. Everyone is cheering again.

As Marley keeps depriving Will of his powers, I fight off Warren with my fists, not once bothering with my powers unless I have to. His fist goes for my side, but I block it with a jab to his chest. I sweep his feet out from under him, leaving him on his back. He does the same to me and I fall on his chest. He flips us over and straddles my stomach.

"Who's losing the game now," he asks tauntingly.

I throw my legs up in a closing-scissor motion, locking my legs around his neck. I push them down, flipping him onto his stomach with my feet. He groans as I stand up and walk over to the metal death machine. The stupid doll is there, slowly dropping to her death. There's still one minute left in the game. No use in waiting. I'll just speed it up.

I stand at the bottom and look up at the rope. I throw an open hand at it and a light shard flies towards it from my palm, breaking the rope and making the "citizen" fall in.

Boomer stands up to announce Marley and I winners, but I don't stop fighting.

When people get mad, they see red. Buckets and buckets of red; kind of like a bad Carrie knock-off. But I see white. I see it everywhere as angry tears fall down my cheeks and I throw blasts of light towards the stupid fire-boy on the ground.

He's groaning in pain, begging me to stop, but in my own mind, I'm seeing someone else asking for me to fight back. I ignore Warren and send out more light shards his way. Each one nicks him until he bleeds. His suit is torn, tan skin and blood taking up space where fabric used to be.

Warren stands up slowly, clutching his bleeding side, where the wounds are worse, and begs me to stop. But I don't. Instead, I send a huge earthquake of light from my palms, screaming at the top of my lungs, until Layla muffles my breathing and I pass out in her arms.

Marjorie tells me, later, that I was still crying in my sleep when she came to get me.


	7. Are You Okay by Was Not Was

_You stared at me 'til your eyeballs smoked  
Was it anger or love or the caffeine in your coke?  
I searched my soul for the words to soothe you  
But nothing that I did ever seemed to move you_  
_Was it something that I did or didn't say  
Are you okay  
I wanna know, are you okay_

_-"Are You Okay" by Was Not Was_

* * *

After the incident with Warren during Save the Citizen, the rest of the game was cancelled and people were sent to hang out on the lawn until regular schedule resumed. Layla insisted on taking me to the nurse, but she was an emotional wreck, crying all over the place and muttering under her breath things that no one else could hear. Marley didn't know what to do and so she hid herself in the changing rooms until lunch. Boomer spazzed in front of the school, screaming for medical attention because he thought I was _dead_. And Warren just bled on the gym floor, taking in the scene from outside the circle.

In the end, Warren and I were both taken to the nurse, where Warren was healed by a kid who worked with Nurse Spex during his gym hour and I was left under my heavy sleep induced by Layla's really cool power and depriving people of oxygen with her hand.

Marjorie took me home and left me in bed for an hour before she woke me up.

"You scared everyone," she said. "They didn't know what was wrong. Just that the game was over and you were still attacking."

I nodded from my spot on my bed. "Pretty much," I croaked. My throat had been so dry.

"What happened?"

I shrugged. "I don't know." Because I didn't.

Abel came home and checked me over, telling me to get some rest and relax and not overexert myself for the rest of the day.

I stayed up for the rest of the day, playing Pokémon on my Game Boy Pocket (90's kids, man, we are true to our nature!) until Abel came up with cream of wheat and berry juice. He warned me about overexertion again and then left my room to go calm a worrying Marjorie. I just ate my food and went on a Nerd Status until I heard a knock on my window.

I walk over to the window seat and sit down on the cushions. I lift the glass and try not to freak out because all of a sudden, Warren Peace is standing in my room in a Henley and sweatpants that really should be tighter around his hips if he doesn't want to get raped in an alleyway by a horny teenage girl. His hair is back in his standard French braid that reaches his shoulderblades and I try not to let my mind wonder on how he really needs to cut his hair or else he was really going to regret it when he clears his throat and I'm thrown back into my own reality of HOLY-SHIT-Warren-fucking-Peace-is-in-my-room-and-w here-did-he-get-my-address-from? Probably Layla. I'm disowning her. I'm done with her. She's no longer my family if she's handing out my address to hot guys in dangerous sweatpants.

"It's two o' clock in the morning," I pull my sweatshirt over my knees and hug them to me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he says, as if it's normal that – and I'm going to repeat it over and over until he's gone – he's in my room at two o' clock in the morning in sweatpants that are about to fall to his ankles, asking me if I'm okay. What. The. Actual. Fuck?

"Um, okay…" I blink a lot, because I don't know what else to do right now other than stare at him in this extremely awkward silence. There's also the bit where I don't have any pants on. "Why?"

He shrugs, opting to take a look around my room instead. His eyes roam over the soft rose-petal-red walls and the white swirls I've painted into them with touches and hues of silver to give them dimension. There are white Christmas lights giving light to my room because I refused to have just a single light bulb. One wall is covered floor to ceiling in a CD and record shelf. There's a big square in the middle that holds my record player. The wall connected to the right has a full-bodied collage of pictures I took back when I lived in Maine and since I've started living here and hanging out with Lucille, Mark, and Layla. I have several of Marjorie and Abel, and very little of my actual parents. He fingers one of those pictures.

"Your parents," he asks, breaking the loud silence around us.

I nod, "Yeah, those are them. I don't look anything like them, though. You can't really tell," I shrug.

He shakes his head, "No, you have your father's eyes."

"I wouldn't know," I whisper. "They died when I was four."

"Sorry."

It's quiet again, and I can feel my legs breaking out in goose pimples from the cold.

"Why are you making sure I'm okay," I ask him. "I'm not the one who got brutally attacked."

He turns back around to face me. "Maybe not, but I still hit you with the fireball. Your skin was burnt off. You looked like Two-Face for a moment." I cringe, because hearing it makes my cheek hurt. It's still tender and raw from the burn. My skin is still regenerating and healing from his offensive attack.

"I'm fine," I assure him.

"No you're not." I try to explain that I'm fine but he barrels on. "You attacked me even when the game was over. When I was down on the ground, you threw light shards at me. I lost a liter of blood because you freaked."

"I was just pissed from the fireball, okay?" I get up, ignoring my pantless form and make way for my bed so I can hide under my covers and pretend I'm three years old with no worries and a juicebox. Warren stops me with a hand to my arm. "Let me go or I will blast you."

"Bullshit," he growls. "Something's up and I'm going to find out what it is, Glitter Fingers."

I lift my other hand to smack him but he catches that one, too. I growl, a scream bubbling in the back of my throat, and thrash around in his grasp. He just grabs onto me tighter. I'm fed up and angry by the time his grip loosens on my wrists. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles into my skin and warming the cool goosebumps into flat plains of skin. The action touches me, sends a shiver down my spine that feels delicious down to my toes. His hands let go of mine, but they fall down to my waist. His fingers are soft and rough all at once, hovering over my hips where my sweatshirt rides up to just below my naval.

_Gah, I am so freaking cold right now…Oh, never mind, he's keeping me warm. Wait, why is he so close to me? Abort mission. Abort mission! ABORT MISSION!_

His hands bunch up in my sweatshirt and his fists pull my chest to his. He lowers his face to mine and I'm sure he's going to lay a big lip smacker on me when he decides to be a tease and goes for my jaw-line. His lips run down the length of it, caressing the skin as he goes for the edge of my neck. Oh, _god_, this guy could get a girl pregnant just by looking at her. I'm probably going to be the new OctoMom, right now. One of his hands palms the skin at the small of my back. I'm groaning and breathing shallow and fast, now.

His lips touch my ear when it all goes to shit, "Tell me what really happened."

I touch my hands to his chest and blast him out the window with a force-field made of light and anger and maybe a little sexual frustration. Okay, _a lot_ of that.

I stick my head at the window and look down at Warren. He's sitting up, rubbing his pounding head. "What was that for," he yelled.

"You know," I say, "the next time I let you try to seduce me, it better be so that I can actually have my way with you. _Not_ because you want to find out some dark secret I supposedly have locked up."

I slam my window shut and lock it, trying so hard not to walk out of my house and out to Warren so that I can finish the stupid game he started.

"Layla," I mutter to my lonely room, "you better hope Mother Nature has a prayer for you when I see you."

* * *

I get up extra early just to get to Layla's house in time to wake her up. She's sleeping in her makeshift bed of three mattresses stacked on top of the other, drool dripping down her cheek and onto her wheat sack pillow case. She looks so sweet and innocent. It would be a shame if…someone…woke her up…crudely.

I flip her mattress over and send her onto her face. "Wake up, bitch."

"Uriel," she says, woken up and alert. "What's going on? Why did you call me that?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "You know why," I say. I point a perfectly manicured – wait, that's not a perfectly manicured finger! Oh wait, I was doing something.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

I laugh maniacally for a moment, "Of course you do! Warren Peace, showing up at my fucking window at two o' clock in the godforsaken morning? You told him where I lived!"

She cocks her head to a side and for a moment, she looks like a dog who clearly doesn't understand a single thing her human is saying to her. She licks over her dry lips and says very slowly, "I didn't give Warren your address."

"What," I ask, because I really don't believe her right now.

"I said: I didn't give Warren your address."

"Well then, who did?"

"I'm not sure."

I have a stalker now. Great…

I go and mull the idea over in my head at Layla's kitchen counter. Auntie Josephine makes me some organic pancakes and tofu-bacon. I pick at my food for an hour until Layla runs down the stairs and tells me we have to leave for the bus. I shovel the food in my mouth in one, two, three forkfuls and run out the front door with her. Will is halfway to the stop when we get out.

I ride next to Ethan again, who compliments my polka-dot skirt and bright yellow blazer with a charming smile and assistance on my Hero Trig. I call him a saint and spend the rest of the bus ride trying to understand trigonometry.

When I sit down in Villain Psychosis II during second period, Warren is already sitting in his seat behind my desk. I slide in smoothly and pull out the homework assigned the first day. A note falls onto my desk.

I open it to find his blocky writing. **Sorry about last night…**

I write back to him, _At least you had the decency to apologize_, before send it back to him.

**I just needed to make sure you're okay.** Ugh, this again? Not like he cares anyway. What, is Warren Peace a gentlemen now?

_It's okay, dude. Seriously, it pisses me off when people baby me. And BTW, I'm not hiding anything from you. There's nothing wrong with my mental stability or anything. No big secrets._ I can hear him sneakily unfolding the note when the teacher starts writing notes on the board.

**Promise?**

_I swear on my Best Man dress that is way too cute to be sworn on in the first place._

He snorts, which makes the teacher, Ms. Rivers, turn around and look at him. He hides the note under his textbook.

"Is there something funny you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Peace," she asks sternly.

"Um, no ma'am?"

"Is that an answer or a question?"

"No, ma'am. There is nothing funny I'd like to share." I hold in my laughter because Warren sounds scared and hurried. Ms. Rivers turns away to continue writing on the board. He throws the note back, **Best, Man huh? Something you're not telling me? And did Stronghold finally put a ring on Hippie?**

_Trust me, Lady Parts intact. And, no, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did. He looks at her like she's the air he breathes._

**Wouldn't be surprised if he cut off his oxygen when he wasn't around her. So who's getting married then?**

_Sister. She's marrying a Super doctor that prescribes meds that actually taste like the fruits they claim. He made me his Best Man because I let my sister's BFF take the Maid of Honor status._

**Can I have his card, then?** **Milanta tastes like chalk.**

_Hahaha, I'll let him know his services are needed._

I think the note passing is done, but then I feel his hand creep down my arm and into my hand where he places the paper again. I unfold it, wondering what else he could have left to say to me. The result has me coughing after choking on my own air.

**So…Having your way with me? How's that gonna happen?**

I stare at the paper, eyes turning into saucers because I really wish he didn't remember that. I decide to turn the tables on him.

_Are you seriously asking the girl YOU tried to seduce last night?_

**It worked, didn't it?**

_Touché…But you'd probably have to stop calling me ridiculous names like "Glitter Fingers" to actually have a chance._

It lands back on my desk too quickly. I'm sure he said no, but he surprises me again. **I can work on that.**

_None of that tease stuff either. If you're gonna get a girl hot and bothered, you need to finish her off somehow._

**I can definitely do that ;)**

He drew a winky face at me. Forget OctoMom, I just birthed twenty children and have seven more on the way!

_You won't do it, anyway._

**What makes you think that?**

_I don't need another hook-up on my list of failed relations._

**That's okay. I like a challenge.**


End file.
